


No Other Place

by ElvenSorceress



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Athelnar - Freeform, Bisexuality, Canon Compliant, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, discussion of slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSorceress/pseuds/ElvenSorceress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people Athelstan almost gave his heart to, and the one he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shield-Maiden

When she took the bloody knife from him, his heart was in pieces. 

His home was destroyed and his God was lost. All he had wished for was to live as the Son of God would have wanted him to, and now he feared himself incapable. 

He was weak and his soul was plagued with longing. His brothers, Father Cuthbert, even Christian leaders and missionaries he’d met in other lands told him God’s love was enough love for any man. It was all anyone needed. 

It made shame gnaw like pestilent rats in Athelstan’s gut. 

As much as he loved God with his entire being, there was still emptiness inside him. It was cold and ragged and he tried to fill it with prayers and knowledge. But now he had neither. 

He might still be breathing, existing, but the man he was died like the rest of his people at Lindisfarne. 

He was trapped and abandoned. Forsaken. The only reason he was alive had to be so that he could be punished for his failings and all his weaknesses.

She took a cloth, soaked it in water, and rested it on his bleeding head. Her touch was gentle, her eyes soft and sad. She was ferocious and hardened from the frozen, bloodthirsty world she lived in, but it had not turned her to cruelty. She might not be Christian, but her heart was benevolent. He felt it in her steady gaze, in the way she cleaned his face and his wounds. 

She held up the small blade she’d taken from him. “Do you want me to help you?”

He wanted to say yes. It was there waiting at the edge of his lips. But to what end? Whatever his identity had been, it was no longer. It wouldn’t make him any less lost. Shaving the circle back into his hair wouldn’t end his nightmare, his confusion, or his pain. 

But warmth from her made him not hurt so much. “No,” he answered. “But thank you.”

She stood, lifted the cloth under her hand, and must’ve been checking to see if he still bled. With the tips of her fingers, she lifted his chin up. “Ask if you need something, priest. I do not wish to see you harm yourself.” 

Though he didn’t know how he could manage such a thing, he nodded. 

She brushed curls off his forehead and left a light kiss under them before squeezing his shoulder and leaving to finish breakfast.


	2. The Daughter

When he didn’t come down from the trees, she gathered her skirts and climbed the branches as if such things as royalty and nobility had never been used to describe her.

There had been tenuous hope threaded through his heart, slowly stitching him back together, and they had gathered it and ripped it from him. Now everything unraveled and he was still a fracture that wouldn’t heal. 

His life wasn’t worth much and for something close to a year it had been nothing but confusion, uncertainty, flashes of unbearable pain. But he wanted to keep it. He wasn’t ready to die. 

He wanted to return home with the family he loved. More than anything, he wished to be part of that family, and the only time he could remember longing for something as much as he did for them was when he prayed for Ragnar’s life. 

He should have longed for his God to return to him. That should have been what he desired most. But it seemed he failed all the gods. 

If this was all his attempts at faith earned him — having people he cared for wish him dead, having his trust betrayed, having his life mean nothing to those he likely would have given it up for — then there was something raw and raging in his chest for any gods who would do this to him. 

Perhaps he felt that same anger for all the people who did this to him. He should live a hundred years just to spite all of them. Though now there hardly seemed a reason. 

He had been so certain in his love for them, just as he’d been so certain in his love for God. What did he have left now? 

She found him in the woods, in the trees, as if she had followed him. She’d been watching him since before they left Kattegat. 

He hadn’t climbed very high, just enough so that he wasn’t touching the bloodstained earth. But he worried for her when she scaled the branches and perched beside him. 

“I’m sorry,” she offered. 

He shook his head. There was nothing that was her fault. It was his own for trusting. For longing and wanting love other than what God offered him. 

“You should have known. They should have asked you.”

The point was irrelevant now. It was over. Leif was dead. Athelstan should have been dead, but no. He was alive even though the people he thought were his family had brought him to die. But he’d fooled even himself. He was a slave and had always been a slave and theirs to throw away as they saw fit. 

“I thought…” Many things. He once believed in so many things. What could he believe in now? Maybe God’s love wasn’t enough to fill in his despair, but it was all he had now. “I thought they cared for me. They never treated me the way I’ve seen other people treat their slaves. I thought I was different.”

She looked at him gently, sorrow coloring her features. “You are. They do care for you. If you were not so precious to them, you never could have been a sacrifice.”

His heart skipped because he wanted that so badly, and he hated himself for it. 

She took his hand and squeezed until he looked at her. “You were once a priest. Is it not an honor to be given to the gods?”

He leaned against the trunk of the tree. Yes, he understood how that was an honor. But he was exhausted and gutted from it. 

“I was given away because of power and alliances and to spite my father’s enemies. You were given out of love, though not in the right way. It was wrong what they did. But you were still given out of love, not greed or anger.”

He covered her hand between both of his and ached with sadness. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to you.” She rested her head on his shoulder and wove their fingers together. “I saw him after I left you. He was sitting in the leaves outside where we were. I’ve never seen someone look to be in such despair.”

It shouldn’t be comforting and yet he still longed for someone besides whatever gods existed to care about him. He didn’t know what to feel for her, but he didn’t want to let go of her hand.


	3. The King

When he woke during the night from dreams of ravens and swords and laughter, heart fluttering like birds’ wings, he found himself alone. 

Guards followed him when he went to search the sky though they kept their distance. The night held no birds, no stars, no moonlight for the fog was too thick and there was nothing but darkness. 

His wrist felt bare, empty like his chest, though he’d only possessed the arm ring for a short time. He cradled the bare spot as he might a bleeding wound. 

The cross around his neck could never bring him comfort at such times. But the warmth of a hand on his back might, even though it startled him when he felt it. 

“My friend, what brings you out here at this hour?” The king moved to stand in front of him and it ceased his search of the cloudy sky. “You’ll grow sick from the cold.” 

He doubted that. This temperature no longer felt cold compared to the winters back home. Back in Kattegat. This was supposed to be his home. 

No matter what he called this place, his heart had already grown sick. 

“Come inside.” The king draped an arm around his shoulders and led him down the hallways to a room with a glowing hearth. He bade Athelstan sit by the flames though there was no chill on his skin and the fire could not warm him. 

The king swept aside his robe and sat close to Athelstan. That was warmth he wanted to lean into. There was too much of an ache inside him. He felt the loneliness on his skin, in his blood, in his bones, in his mind, as deeply as his soul. 

The king touched the back of Athelstan’s hand. “Did you wake from nightmares?” 

“No.” Dreams brought him memories. Conversations about travel, religion, philosophy, weaponry, gardening, children, secrets, wishes, past, present, and futures. 

They brought him giddy, smiling, rowdy boys who loved to play pranks as much as they loved to be held and cuddled and while they were told stories. Dreams brought him lessons with ax and spear and shield, lessons hunting, fishing, at the loom, with the crops, with languages, with pagan gods. 

Dreams brought him the man who would hold him tightly and reassure him that it didn’t matter which gods he believed in. He just hoped Athelstan would believe in him. 

“You weren’t thinking of running away. Were you. Because leaving would put you in grave danger, you remember.” 

He looked from the fire to the king’s eyes. They’d turned dark and sharp, colder than northern winters. Athelstan quickly shook his head. “No. I was unable to sleep.”

A veil of softness fell over the king and he smiled warmly. “Is there a way that I might aid your rest?”

“There’s nothing I can think of,” he said and he meant it as truth. His stomach tightened and his heart stopped when the back of a hand stroked his face. 

“I know of something.” The king leaned in close enough that heat crashed through Athelstan like waves hitting rocks. The smell of herbal scented bathwater permeated the air he tried to breathe, and his heart turned back into fluttering wings wildly beating against a cage. 

The king cupped Athelstan’s cheek and brought him forward until their mouths were pressed together. 

The king’s eyes were closed as if he were lost in bliss. Athelstan’s darted around but there was nothing to find that could give him answers. Why would this king want him? Why would anyone want him?

But. It was warm and soothing in a way that lessened the ache of absence in his chest. He didn’t know that he wanted this exactly, but he craved the reprieve from loneliness. The king was gentler and more reverent than Athelstan would have guessed. It could be pleasant. 

He let his eyes fall closed and this time, he kissed back. 

The hand on his cheek slid around to the the back of his neck, clutching him and holding tightly. Rough, prickly hair of the king’s beard scraped against Athelstan’s lips, leaving them raw and tingling. 

It made him think of another man entirely. One who was strong and thoughtful, rough and gentle, crafted by something golden from wisdom, beauty, and power. 

Athelstan wrapped his arms around the man, turning his hands to fists in the clothes at his back and kissing him desperately. 

But the body pressed against his was too lean, too slender. There were no hard muscles, the skin of his hands hadn’t been roughed by ax or hammer or working a farm, and Athelstan would never be able to sleep again if he did this with a false heart. 

He broke away and couldn’t keep from trembling. “I’m sorry. I can not…” He had to give a reason. A good reason. One that was believable. “I vowed celibacy.”

But he might’ve gone too far. What if the king demanded it of him anyway? Athelstan knew how to use a sword and shield, but he wouldn’t be able to use them against a king. He clutched his fists to his own body and wished he could shrink in on himself. 

Disappointment plainly shadowed the king’s face, but he made no move of advancement. “Are you saying you were prisoner of the Northmen for years and still kept your vows of the monastery? None of them ever used their heathen savagery to defile you?”

The choice of words made Athelstan’s skin crawl but he wasn’t going to argue semantics. “Yes, I kept my vows. I’ve never…” If he couldn’t remember for certain and didn’t wish for it, then it didn’t count. He had no more thoughts or words to offer, so he left it there but still felt himself shaking and didn’t know how to make it stop. 

The king cupped the side of his face, but differently from earlier. It was more protective now. “Of course you haven’t. I humbly beg forgiveness for tempting you.” 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He tried to smile and hoped he managed it. 

The king pulled him forward into a simple embrace. 

Athelstan returned the affection and let his head rest on the king’s shoulder for a moment. This was what he wanted most anyway. Someone who would be loving and caring with him. “Thank you for your kindness,” he said when he decided he shouldn’t hang onto the king any longer. “If it’s all right, I would like to return to my room and try sleeping again.”

“Of course.” He walked Athelstan to the door, arm possessively around his shoulders. “Remember, I will be right here if you do decide you’d like help finding sleep.”

He nodded quickly and hurried to his little room. It was colder without hearth or fire but he could breathe more easily. He wrapped an extra blanket tightly around his body and tried to convince himself that it was a person, a man who held Athelstan while he tried to sleep instead of thick cloth.


	4. The Princess

When her gaze fell on him, he felt it as he might a hand — one that gripped, demanded, and took before asking. She was not a warrior and yet he had no doubt in her ability to rip open a man’s chest, tear him to shreds, and leave him a hollowed out mess of blood and broken bones. 

It was no oddity that she would ask about the Northmen. She was strong and curious and seemed to hold no fear. He had a feeling she could easily blend herself amongst them. 

There was power radiating from her like the rays of the sun, and it made him feel as if he’d been trapped at the edge between desolate winter and budding spring for years. 

He would easily give in to her demands. 

She could crush him under her power, squeeze breath from his lungs, drain blood from his heart. And part of him wanted her to. 

He didn’t want to be haunted by gods or demons any longer. He didn’t want horrors with fangs and darkness to chase him. He didn’t want to think of nails piercing his hands and feet, breaking tiny, fragile bones. He didn’t want to choose or worry what he should believe. 

He wanted to be told how he should act, what he should think. He wanted to obey. He wanted to prove his love and loyalty to something. 

Perhaps it would finally bring peace back to him. There was comfort in giving his entire being, in placing himself — body, mind, heart, and soul — into serving another. It meant he’d belong somewhere to someone. His life would have purpose, his torment would end. Any god could claim him and it wouldn’t matter because ultimately, his heart would already be spoken for.

But a heart was not what she desired from him, and in her dominion, he would always feel emptiness. He’d felt it even as a monk when his whole being belonged to God, and he had to believe that God was kinder and more compassionate than this princess. 

As much as he was drawn to the strength of her will, she could never give him the love that even God provided. 

He had to look away lest he be consumed.


	5. The Wife

When he was as boy and dreamed of falling in love, he imagined someone like her. 

She was soft and kind, and the core of her spirit was one of endurance and towering strength. There was bright intelligence behind eyes sparkling with sweet mischief. She would kiss his scars and pray for the pain to leave him. When she touched him, it was with gentleness and care that he’d always craved. 

What would his life have been like if he had chosen this? The love of a woman, the children they’d have, the life they’d all share. If he’d had a choice. If he had something like this. Would it bring him peace? Was this kind of love enough to soothe his emptiness and keep him from feeling so alone, so different? 

He wanted to know. He wanted to feel love. He wanted to give her what she desired. He wanted her to be happy. 

She undressed him and laid him bare under her delicate hands. She kissed him and he followed her lead. She cradled him and held him and promised she loved him. 

And he should love her. Even with the marriage she already had, he should love her. Reason told him to. His head told him to. 

His heart never listened.


	6. The Farmer

The bowl of stew had cooled to barely warm but the smell drifting from it still made his stomach gurgle and growl. He wouldn’t eat until he’d finished. The others, even the children, had left in search of food and firewood while there was still light in the sky, and he’d made a promise. 

He filled a spoon with broth and brought it to Ragnar’s lips. Slowly, they parted, and slowly, Ragnar sipped the fragrant liquid.

His skin was ashen and his eyelids seemed heavy. They all feared he would succumb to his wounds or that fever would take him. Athelstan tried his best not to think on it. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop watching the rise and fall of Ragnar’s chest just to be certain he still drew breath. As it was, his breathing appeared all too weary and gradual. 

When Athelstan brought the spoon to him once more, Ragnar shook his head. “You finish it.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded and watched, probably to make sure Athelstan did eat. Whatever Helga had mixed in with the meat and grains tasted wonderful even after it had cooled for some time. Athelstan ate quickly, hungrily and it made Ragnar smile at him. 

Once Athelstan had finished and washed the bowl and spoon he’d used, Ragnar announced quietly but very clearly, “I’m cold.”

The air was chilly even with the fire. He didn’t know how Floki and Helga could stand it during the winter. He’d draped a fur around his shoulders even though they were sheltered inside near the fire. But he started to remove it so he could add it to the pile covering his wounded friend. 

“No.” Ragnar motioned for him to come closer. 

“I’ll find another one—”

“No. You and my wife keep each other warm while you sleep.” Ragnar weakly tugged at the corner of his furs and blankets. “Come keep me warm.” His face softened and he looked up at Athelstan with big, sparkling eyes. “Please?”

It wasn’t as if Ragnar was actually capable of moving enough to have an ulterior motive, but breaking his vows and being desired by this man wasn’t what Athelstan feared. “I do not want to hurt you.”

“I know.” Ragnar smiled and attempted to draw his coverings back further but ended up wincing and inhaling sharply. Athelstan knelt beside him, afraid he’d try to move again. Ragnar turned his piercing, most persuasive gaze on him. “That is why I trust you.”

Something tangled in Athelstan’s stomach. He took a deep breath to steady himself and then lay down beside Ragnar and curled around him as carefully as he could. 

It was warm and the soft bed cradled them. From here, he could tell that Ragnar smelled of sage and oils but too much blood. Athelstan nestled close and rested his head near Ragnar’s. With a deep breath, he prayed silently once more for Ragnar to become whole and healthy and well again. 

Ragnar was quiet but moved a little until his cheek was pressed to Athelstan's forehead. Warmth bloomed on his skin. It felt tender and intimate. Athelstan couldn’t remember sharing such closeness with anyone. Even as a child. 

He feared sin and punishment, along with shame, guilt, but most of all, he feared the depth of longing in his own heart. 

Still, he couldn't bear to move further away. He wanted too much. He wanted their arms wrapped around each other and their bodies pressed together. Just for warmth and companionship. Which was still far too much to ask for let alone think about. 

He closed his eyes. Once Ragnar was asleep, he would get up and wouldn’t dwell on this any longer. 

But Ragnar didn’t sleep right away. In a small, far too raspy, thin voice, he asked, “Why have you not run away?”

It was.. odd to bring up. Where exactly was he supposed to run to? “There's nowhere for me to go.” 

“What if I said I would take you back? Would you want me to?”

What could he say to that? It wasn't as if the offer were possible right now even if it was serious. Did he want to return to England? What was there to return to? "Why do you ask?”

Ragnar breathed slowly, deeply as if it pained him to do so. “You told me you wished to be free.”

Athelstan gently ran his fingertips down Ragnar's chest, hoping to soothe him. “I didn't say I wanted to leave. I’ve never…” Was it overstepping his bounds? Ragnar never seemed concerned about that. But it could be saying too much. Was he just a slave? Was he something else? He hadn't actually felt like a slave since Ragnar cut the rope from his neck. Perhaps, he was simply naïve and too trusting. He still wanted to stay. “I was given to the monastery when I was very young. I don’t remember truly being part of a family.”

Ragnar captured Athelstan’s hand before he could draw back and held it to his chest. “Gyda said you pulled me from the water. You dove in after me.”

The hand holding his was warm, but the grip was loose. All he could think of was the terror he’d felt watching Ragnar fall from the cliff. He rubbed his thumb over Ragnar’s fingers. “I did.”

Ragnar turned his head and let his cheek rest against Athelstan’s. “Do you want to know why I brought you here? Why I spared your life? I thought of why.”

His voice was so soft and fragile. All Athelstan wanted was to protect him, heal him. “So that one day, I would save yours?”

A wide grin spread across Ragnar’s face. Athelstan couldn't see it, but he could feel the way Ragnar’s cheek curved and pressed against his own. “No, but that’s what I should tell everyone. It was because you chose a book. You chose knowledge above all things. I would do the same. I felt… that you were like me. Different. I’ve never had that before.”

Athelstan swallowed and wanted to hold on as tightly as possible, but would certainly cause pain if he did so. He’d known many people, all over their world, but he’d never had that before either. 

Ragnar lifted his head and leaned back a little, just enough so their eyes met. The same color, the same sparks and softness. “I do not have the power to declare you a free man in front of everyone and still keep you protected. If I ever do, I will. But you are to me. You are part of my family. In my heart, if no other place.” Slowly, Ragnar lifted their hands and left a kiss on Athelstan’s knuckle. His eyes closed and he said nothing more, but he held Athelstan’s hand tighter as he slept. 

Athelstan moved the arm that wasn’t being gripped to Ragnar’s chest and stroked his fingers over his soft, dark blond braid. Everything inside him was silent save for the full beating of his heart. 

# # # # # # #

King Ecbert’s words still echoed in his mind, but Athelstan had never been more certain. There was no future for him here. The wrong decisions he had made were ones where he had chosen to stay behind and not follow the man who made his heart alive. 

Ragnar had abandoned the drunken festivities, and Athelstan found him in the darkness outside. Where he used to watch the horizon, wondering if they’d ever see each other again. 

Ragnar's gaze wandered out over the villa, up to the heavens, and down at his feet before he finally looked to Athelstan. “If you wish to stay, I will stay.”

Whatever words were on his tongue, Athelstan could no longer speak them. He no longer remembered them. He couldn't think of anything. His breath was trapped in his lungs. Ragnar would stay here? For him? If he wished to? It wouldn’t be possible. Ragnar’s life, his home was across the sea. He couldn’t. “You would…” he tried but there was nothing he could say that would come close to matching the rush of surprise, shock, stunned, grateful, powerful adoration that he felt.

“I would. There’s nothing there for me.”

There was nothing Athelstan could think of either. Not from the way Ragnar had been so withdrawn and miserable when it was anything but just the two of them. With one big exception. “Your children?”

He shook his head. "I would bring them here. We have a settlement now. I would teach them to grow crops and tend the land.” He reached out but seemed to hesitate and his hand only barely brushed Athelstan’s chest. “I told you wherever you went, I would follow. I meant it.”

Athelstan’s lips trembled and he tried to keep his eyes from welling with tears. He reached out instead, sliding his arms over Ragnar’s shoulders and pulling him into a fierce embrace. “I don’t care where we are. As long as we're together. I never want to be without you.”

Though Ragnar had returned the hug the moment Athelstan began it, he gripped tightly now, clutching Athelstan to him. 

Athelstan pressed his cheek against Ragnar’s, savoring the warmth and closeness. “My soul is twined with yours,” he whispered into Ragnar’s ear. “I would give you everything — my body, my life, my every breath.” He pulled back enough so that Ragnar could see him smile, the first real smile he’d been able to manage in months. “You are my family.”

Fists clenched in Athelstan's tunic. Ragnar didn’t seem to be breathing. He searched Athelstan’s face while worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “And,” he started softly. “What of your heart?”

Athelstan grinned and ran his hand over the curve of Ragnar’s cheek, caressing the soft beard, his beautiful face. “My heart has always been yours.”

“Always?”

When he thought about when it happened, he couldn’t remember the exact moment. All he remembered were instances where it was pure and simple truth. “For a very long time now.”

One of Ragnar’s hands came up and brushed Athelstan’s cheek. It was impossibly gentle and Athelstan turned his head into the touch. “Does that mean,” Ragnar asked, voice low and heated and it turned Athelstan’s stomach to knots. “I could kiss you?”

He gripped Ragnar’s arms, struck with dizzying heat. It left him defenseless, needy, but he didn’t care. “Yes. Kiss me.” 

Ragnar beamed and brought Athelstan closer so that he was very aware of the solid, muscular body pressed to his. Breath skimmed over Athelstan’s lips as Ragnar spoke. Teased. “And your celibacy?”

Athelstan tipped his mouth toward Ragnar’s and brought their lower halves together. He made a fist in the clothes at Ragnar’s hip, keeping him close, and pressed himself against Ragnar’s thigh. “Kiss me.”

Ragnar crushed Athelstan in his arms and claimed his lips, devouring him like he’d wanted nothing else for years. Maybe he hadn’t. 

Athelstan didn’t know whether to laugh or moan desperately, but he managed something in between and held on with an iron grip. Ragnar's mouth tasted of wine and left him feeling giddy and drunk. His hands curled into Athelstan’s hair, tugging very gently but just enough that Athelstan was happily lost in Ragnar’s strength and power.

He ran his hands over the soft short hair on Ragnar’s head and tipped his own back when Ragnar’s mouth closed on his throat. “I want you to make…” He couldn’t ask that. Not after everything that had happened, everything he had done, all the mistakes he’d made. It wasn’t fair to Ragnar. “Take,” he corrected when Ragnar paused and looked at him. “Take me to bed with you.”

Ragnar’s breath drifted over Athelstan’s face, heavy and damp, full of heat. “Now?”

“Yes. If you want me.”

Ragnar’s hand slid to Athelstan’s cheek, cradling it as his other hand stilled on Athelstan’s back. “I want to make love to you,” Ragnar whispered and brushed his thumb over Athelstan’s lips.

It brought more warmth, more affection than he’d ever imagined was possible, and it all coursed through him until he could hardly remember what emptiness felt like. 

Athelstan smiled and kissed the pad of Ragnar’s thumb. “Yes. Please.” He’d like to think this was the reason for any of the pain he’d endured — that God, gods, and whatever forces were guiding him had brought Ragnar to him in exchange. “Erase everything that has been written on my skin. All the scars, all the touches. I want only you.” 

Ragnar kissed him, solidly, sweetly, and then threaded his fingers through Athelstan’s and led him off into the wild forests, away from the villa, away from everything else. “Quickly. Before anyone notices.” 

Athelstan laughed lightly and ran with him, never letting go of Ragnar’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At your request, there will probably be a porny epilogue. Stay tuned. <3


End file.
